


could it be a faded rose from days gone by?

by enich



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: And then hurt again, Angst, Hanahaki Disease, Hercules and Aaron are only mentioned, Hurt/Comfort, Im bad at writing, John Needs A Hug, M/M, One Shot, One-Sided Attraction, i kinda wrote this while high
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 19:29:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17648546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enich/pseuds/enich





	could it be a faded rose from days gone by?

So, Herc is probably right this time.   
  
He had specifically told him that Jefferson was gonna be there. He reminded him of the risks, listed them all down with a pitying frown. John had sworn up and down that he was fine, he could do in for just tonight. He had it under control. He wasn't a baby, he could take care of himself.   
  
_ I'm fine, Herc. Nothing has happened for a long time. And you know I can't miss Alex's birthday. _   
  
(The tailor had sighed, reluctantly giving in.)   
  
_Well... no, drinkin'. And no weed either, alright, Jacky? At least be careful for me._   
  
(John nodded, grinning up at his friend and pressing a quick, small peck to his cheek)   
  
_ Alright. _   
  
Panic spikes in his chest as he runs towards a bathroom, any bathroom. Why now? Why did his stupid heart have to act up now, of all times? The party was supposed to be fun. The party was supposed to be easy.   
  
When was the last time he had an attack? Four, five months? John can't remember in his frantic search for a toilet, but he does know that this shouldn't be happening. He _told_ Herc that he had it under control.   
  
Finally he spots a men's restroom down the corridor, and he barely has time to throw open the door and stall before the flowers come.   
  
Asters, camellias, lotuses, dandelions, all off them spill from his mouth, blood covered and bright, down into the toilet. The taste of copper coats John's tongue as he chokes on blood and petals, heaving the cursed plants from the pit of his stomach. Acid burns his throat has he coughs and spits until all the comes out is red-tinted saliva.   
  
"Laurens?" Comes a tentative voice from behind him. A voice John recognizes. He cranes his head around to confirm his suspicions. He feels a trickle of blood drip down the corner of his mouth.   
  
There, face pinched with concern and confusion, stands six feet of Thomas Jefferson, all curly hair and worried brown eyes. John flinches, grabbing the edge of the toilet seat to haul himself up. He makes it all the way to his feet, facing the other man. And promptly slips on bloody flower ejecta. And he's cursing his own dumbass as the ground rushes towards him. He waits for pain, perhaps darkness.   
  
Gets none of that.   
  
Instead feels strong, warm arms wrap around him. And a face flushed hot. "Sorry- Thank you. I mean- I'm fine, and I..." John trails off, can't look Thomas in the eyes. His chest contorts in pain and a whimper uncurls from the pit of his heart.    
  
Tears start to involuntarily roll down his cheeks. A sob breaks from his lips.   
  
Thomas steps them back to lean against the wall and slides down, holding John close to his chest. He stays quiet, gently brushing John's loose curls. The sounds of broken cries into his shirt echo through the bathroom.   
  
It's a while before John finally ceases, probably from dehydration, pulling his head away from Thomas' sweater. It's pooled in tears and petals.   
  
"It'll be okay," Thomas comforts gently, staring solemnly into John's eyes. "It's not your fault."   
  
John's tortured throat heaves yet another croaked sob. He wants to pull away. He pushes in a panicked frenzy, shaking his head violently. He wants to get away from this, this isn't right-   
  
But Thomas is warm, and gentle as he places two large palms of John's tear stained cheeks. His deep southern accent speaks softly and smoothly in reassurance. It lulls John, washing him with a sort of apathetic calm and forcing him take deep breaths. The stingy fluorescent bathroom lights don't feel so harsh, and he feels safe here, right where he wants to be. Thomas smiles, and John's lips curl upward too, and John wants-   
  
And then John's phone is yelling in his pocket, buzzing him right out of safety and warmth, the ringing like a cold slap to the face. The lights are too harsh, the walls are too close. _Thomas_ is too close.   
  
John remembers Burr. Remembers Burr and Thomas and engagement rings and heartbreak. Remembers the toilet full of blood behind him. Remembers how long it took him to stop having monthly attacks.   
  
His heart tells him no. It rages in his chest, but John turns a blind eye. He remembers who he is.    
  
He's numb. Doesn't hesitate to push Thomas away, and gets up. Thomas looks confused. He looks hurt.   
  
"John-"   
  
John runs out of the bathroom.   
  
Grabs his phone, glancing at the caller ID. **_Herc_**. He ignores it and keeps running, passing the party and rushing out the front door. He doesn't stop running until he's at least halfway home. John's running slows to a stop and his lungs scream painfully as he gulps down air, putting his hands behind his head.   
  
It's a full minute of harsh breathing before he picks up his phone again, checking the time.   
  
John sees a gas station. Goes in. Comes out with a pack of cigs.   
  
He fishes a lighter out of his pocket, and lights a smoke before beginning his stroll the rest of the way home. It's midnight by the time he gets there, and four cigarettes are gone. He brushes a couple stray petals off his hoodie before opening the door.   
  
Hercules greets him when he walks in. "How'd it go?" He asks, all white smiles and calloused hands and not Thomas but still someone important. Someone who loves him, and he loves too.   
  
John tastes copper in his mouth. Copper, and regret. 

He grins, bright and toothy and full of masked grief.

  
"It was fun."


End file.
